


She’s got you high and you don’t even know yet

by consultinggalpals (sansa_undergrind)



Series: the universal language of mankind [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Cunnilingus, F/F, Femlock, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Sherlock's Hair, Vaginal Fingering, and also everyone's happy, deliberate use of the word 'cunt', everyone's a lesbian au, hair cutting, so very very soft, soft femlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 04:59:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6501703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansa_undergrind/pseuds/consultinggalpals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The room was silent but for the soft snicks of the scissors and the women’s twin even breaths. John was concentrating on the task at hand, but couldn’t help noticing how relaxed and pliant Sherlock was under her fingertips. She found that she liked it, having Sherlock like this, her ever-buzzing energy reduced to a soft simmer. It made her chest tight with all the unspoken emotion that still lingered between them. She kept on snipping steadily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She’s got you high and you don’t even know yet

**Author's Note:**

> For my anonymous koala [Rawan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/johnlockandwifi), a soft first time femlock fic that's been in the making for oh I don't know, over six months, because I am literally the worst.
> 
> Enjoy ~

John made her way carefully towards 221B. She was trying to balance two very full grocery bags while simultaneously holding her phone pressed between her shoulder and her ear. She was doing her best to keep her side of the conversation with Harry light-hearted and cheerful, but it was getting progressively more difficult as her sister's whiny remarks further proceeded to grate on her nerves.

Harry sounded for all the world like she would die in the very near future. Married life did not agree with her, she insisted, as it had forced her into a world of shopping for curtains and tea with the neighbours. Clara had insisted they get rid of the old wallpaper, opting to paint the nursery light green instead. All of it was positively dreadful. John rolled her eyes in exasperation, knowing full well that this was Harry's not-so-subtle way of dangling her perfect little life in front of her nose.

"And how is dear Sherlock?" Harry asked casually.

"She's fine, yeah." John had reached the front door and was now contemplating how she'd manage to open it without a third arm. "Was in a bit of a strop when I left her this morning, but to be fair it's been a while since we've had a case so it's not unexpected." John shifted one bag onto the crook of her arm and reached for the keys in the front pocket of her purse.

"Say hi to her from me, will you? And Clara wants me to remind you that you are both welcome to dinner, one of these days. You know pregnant women, you can't really deny them anything, now can you?" John could practically hear Harry's smug smile through the phone and decided she had had enough of her sister for the day.

"Yeah, sure. Sorry but I gotta dash now." John managed to push the door open with one shoulder. Harry's overly cheerful goodbye was cut short by John's thumb forcefully pressing the red button on the screen.

She took a deep breath and shook her shoulders, before advancing towards the stairs. She tried to reason with herself that the cause of her irritation couldn't really be pinned on her sister and her happy marriage. That she shouldn't feel pangs of seething jealousy every time Harry would mention how happy she was in her relationship, how much she doted on Clara and how excited they both were to be expecting. John didn't even like children that much, had never been very good with them.

If she had to be brutally honest with herself, the only person she could blame for her current state of annoyance was probably in the middle of setting fire to their kitchen just not to feel bored.

John and Sherlock had been living together for close to a year now and John's hope that the pointless crush on her flatmate would wane with time was becoming less and less of a reality as each day went by. She had more or less accepted that Sherlock did not feel things that way, or at least not for John.

Which was fine, really. No need to feel put out if your gorgeous, mysterious flatmate did not quite fancy you the same way. John was a confident enough woman to realise that this didn’t mean there was something inherently wrong with her. _Sometimes_ , she would tell herself, _you just don’t pull_.

Although it would be much easier to stop pining after Sherlock, if the woman actually had any personal space awareness. John had lost count of how many times she had found herself crowded by Sherlock’s tall figure. She would be in the kitchen, making tea, and suddenly Sherlock’s body would be pressed against hers as she reached for something in a cabinet. John was unfortunately just the right height to make direct eye contact with Sherlock’s chest in such an instance and, seeing as Sherlock rarely bothered with a bra around the flat, John would have to quickly crane her neck back and avert her gaze if she were to not give in to the temptation of just _nuzzling_.

As it were, John had to make do with silent wanks in the shower which, after a painful conversation they had a few months prior, she now felt very self-conscious about. Sherlock had stepped out of the bathroom and into the kitchen where John had been absently reading the papers. Her focus on the article about the NATO congress taking place in Paris had wavered, as she had noticed out of the corner of her eye how Sherlock’s glistening damp skin had been only barely covered by a white cotton towel.

“Why did you change the setting in the shower?”

“I, what?”

“The setting, on the detachable shower head,” Sherlock had huffed. “The stream is decidedly stronger now. Was there a particular reason for it?”

“I-I…” John had felt a slight blush creeping up her neck. How could she explain to her flatmate just what she’d been doing with it? And most importantly, _whom_ she’d been thinking of while doing it?

She had cleared her throat and shuffled the papers in front of her.

“No reason, really,” she had said in what she hoped was an unaffected tone. “My shoulders were a bit tense so I tried with a stronger setting, see if it could work some knots loose.”

Sherlock’s eyes had narrowed slightly, but she had thankfully dropped the subject and stridden into her room to get dressed.

John snapped out of the reverie as she reached the second floor landing and her nostrils were suddenly assaulted by the acrid smell of something burning.

“Christ— SHERLOCK WHAT _THE HELL_...”

She dropped the groceries unceremoniously on the floor and rushed into the kitchen, where Sherlock was standing, surrounded by a small grey cloud and holding a flame torch in one hand and in the other—oh.

In the other hand, Sherlock was holding the badly frizzled remain of her long tresses. She was staring at it with wide uncomprehending eyes. She gently shook it in John’s general direction, and John half-expected it to give one last convulsed jolt as it lay dying in Sherlock’s fingers.

John grimaced. She was very much aware of just how important Sherlock’s hair was to her.

Sure, John complained well enough about the hair monster clogging the shower’s drain and about the agonisingly long time it took Sherlock to blow-dry and style it in the morning. Nevertheless, John found herself mesmerised by Sherlock’s luscious curls more times than she had cared to count. She had dreamt of combing through them in long strokes, Sherlock’s back resting warm against the front of her legs as she hummed contentedly. John loved the way Sherlock’s hair caught the sun in its strands, glittering like copper, and the way Sherlock pushed a lock behind her ear as she stared at her microscope in concentration.

Sherlock’s hair was an extension of Sherlock’s being, just like her big coat or her tailored suits. It fuelled into the dark mysterious figure she tried so desperately to cut and which John so often managed to see through.

“Oh Sherlock,” John’s voice was soft, soothing. “I am so sorry about your hair. But I’m sure we can fix this.”

Sherlock’s eyes snapped up to her.

“And just how exactly,” she asked cuttingly, “are you expecting to do that? Do you happen to know how to reattach seared clumps of hair to one’s head, John?”

John took a deep breath. She knew Sherlock was just taking out her frustration on her. It was nothing personal.

“No, you git. But I know how to use some scissors and I can at least cut away the singed ends and make it look decent.”

Sherlock scoffed. “Just the thing I needed, a dreadful military haircut.”

John crossed her arms and cocked an eyebrow. “Would it really be worse than going around with charred bits of hair stuck to your head?”

Sherlock grumbled a bit more, but even she had to concede to the point. Also, the dead hairy thing in her hand had started to smell rather badly.

“Just give that here and go wash your hair in the bathroom.”

Sherlock shoved the thing in John’s outstretched hand and stalked out of the room, as haughtily as someone with hair burnt to a crisp could manage.

John wrinkled her nose at the hairy mess and decided to dispose of it as quickly as she could, shoving it into a plastic bag which she sealed and then carried downstairs to throw in the bins outside Mrs Hudson’s kitchen. To her credit, their landlady didn’t seem fazed by the fact that John was throwing out quite an abundance of Sherlock’s hair, merely glad that it wasn’t a more vital body part that got involved in the experiment.

John stepped back upstairs and gathered the spilled groceries from the landing to put them away. She was definitely _not_ stalling for time, she told herself, as she fiddled with a can of beans. She looked at her short clumsy fingers, picturing them tangled in Sherlock’s curls instead of wrapped around cold metal. Somehow, her airways felt like squeezing closed, making breathing almost impossible.

Down the hallway, she could hear the tap running and John frowned. _This is ridiculous_ , she thought. Cutting a flatmate’s hair was nothing exceptional. Why should she be so affected? What did she hope to achieve?

“Nothing,” she said out loud. “Absolutely nothing.” She squared her shoulders and grabbed for a pair of scissors.

She padded to the bathroom, dragging a stool from the kitchen behind her, and pushed the door open. She hoped her sudden intake of air was somehow masked by the sound of water, because she had not been prepared for the sight that greeted her.

The first thing John registered was that Sherlock was not wearing her shirt anymore. Which never bode well for her, as John had always found herself thinking more with her downstairs bits than with her brain whenever ungodly amounts of Sherlock’s skin were visible. She was still remarkably proud of having survived reasonably unscathed The Sheet Incident.

Sherlock was bent over the sink, massaging her own scalp under the jet of water. John was mesmerised by the sight of her every bone jutting from her body, miles of pale skin stretching and pulling with her arms’ rhythmic movements. She was wearing a purple bra ( _thank god for that_ , John thought), the clasp digging just under her pointy shoulder blades. Drops of water which had escaped Sherlock’s deft fingers were now making their descent starting at her nape and following the bowed line of her spine.

John was seized by an uncontrollable urge to lick them away.

She clenched her fingers around the scissors instead, and settled the stool in the middle of the bathroom floor with just that much more force than was strictly required.

Sherlock straightened, turning the tap close. When she turned, reaching blindly for a towel, John’s self-control was once again strongly tested, as she took in Sherlock’s flushed face and the wet cluster of curls that stuck to her forehead. Sherlock was agonisingly beautiful, in a rumpled sort of way which made John think of lazy mornings in bed and soft shared intimate touches.

Neither of them said anything as Sherlock ruffled swiftly through her hair and plopped down on the stool with her back to John.

“Do your worst, then.”

“Maybe cut down the sass, yeah?” John quipped. “Woman with a history of violence currently wielding scissors here.”

Sherlock snorted and leant back towards John’s body.

John’s mouth felt very dry, as she tentatively sifted her fingers through the damp curls. She told herself she was merely assessing the best way to go about cutting the hair, not indulging a crave she had felt burning in her chest since the very first day she moved in. Her fingers roamed all over Sherlock’s scalp, massaging lightly and pulling the strands loose. She almost dropped the scissors when she heard the soft sigh escaping Sherlock’s lips.

“John,” Sherlock hummed.

“Mm?”

“As undeniably enjoyable as this feels, I thought you were going to relieve me of ‘the charred bits of hair stuck to my head’, as you so eloquently put it.”

“Yes, right, sorry.”

John set to work, snipping away at the seared bits. The flame had reached the hair just below Sherlock’s ears, leaving them thankfully untouched and the pale stretch of her nape exposed. John did her best to even the length, cutting the longer strands and trying to gauge how they would eventually look once dry.

The room was silent but for the soft _snicks_ of the scissors and the women’s twin even breaths. John was concentrating on the task at hand, but couldn’t help noticing how relaxed and pliant Sherlock was under her fingertips. She found that she liked it, having Sherlock like this, her ever-buzzing energy reduced to a soft simmer. It made her chest tight with all the unspoken emotion that still lingered between them. She kept on snipping steadily.

When she finally got rid of all the burnt bits and managed to even out Sherlock’s hair into an acceptable style, John lowered the hand holding the scissors. She was unwilling to untangle the other from the drying curls.

“Sherlock,” she croaked.

Sherlock had closed her eyes and was unmistakenly leaning into John’s touch. She looked just as unwilling for John to let go.

John cleared her throat and tried again.

“Sherlock, I think I’m finished.”

Slowly, as if molasses stuck her lids together, Sherlock opened her eyes. She looked at her reflection in the mirror above the sink, before shifting her gaze upwards and boring it into John’s stunned face. There was a slight flush upon her sharp cheekbones and she looked to be battling internally against something.

John felt her own face heat up as she tried to hold Sherlock’s remarkable blue-green eyes.

“So, do you, um, do you like it,” she finally managed to ask. Her voice was suddenly impossibly low and raspy. She did not miss Sherlock’s small shiver in reaction to it.

“Yes,” Sherlock breathed, tearing her gaze away from John to surmise her handiwork. She turned her head this way and that, experimentally, taking in the way her curls bounced lightly around her face. “It’s… practical, if anything.”

“I think you look gorgeous,” John blurted out, unable to stop herself. She bit her lip, afraid to have finally said too much, to have crossed that carefully placed line that neither of them was supposed to cross. To her great surprise, Sherlock barely flushed a darker shade of red.

“I… uh.” Well wasn’t that a first. The great Sherlock Holmes, unable to formulate a coherent sentence.

“Absolutely stunning,” John continued, emboldened. “It puts just the right emphasis on your beautiful neck, if you ask me.”

Here, John did the unspeakable: holding her breath, she let her fingers trail down from the mess of curls they were tangled in to stroke gently at Sherlock’s neck. And Sherlock let out such a delicious noise, a feeble moan which John had only pictured in her filthiest fantasies, and _it was because of her_.

“Sherlock,” John took a gulp of air before doing it again, a bit more forcefully and Sherlock positively melted in her hand. Before the logical part of her brain could catch up with her, John moved forward and pressed her lips in a chaste kiss against Sherlock’s warm skin.

“Is this okay?”

“Y-yes,” Sherlock managed to breath out.

John mouthed at the hairline, inching sideways, tilting her head and relishing the taste of clean skin on just the tip of her tongue between parted lips. Before long, she was nuzzling at the soft spot behind Sherlock’s ear, inhaling the scent of her shampoo deeply, letting it course through her body and pool hazily between her legs. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the side of Sherlock’s head.

“God Sherlock,” she murmured. “I’ve been thinking of this for so long.”

Sherlock’s answering whimper sent sparks of pure electricity through John’s body and she knew she was lost. She was barrelling headfirst into whatever this was, no possibility of turning around now, and she only felt relieved. She needed more; anything Sherlock was willing to give her, she wanted with a bone-deep ache.

“I want to kiss you. May I?”

There was a small movement, a barely hinted nod which John felt rather than saw, and then Sherlock was turning her head and John was shifting and then their lips grazed and the world stopped turning.

It was a tentative touch at first, a soft press of dry lips which in many other circumstances would have felt unpleasant. This wasn’t any other circumstance, though. This was _Sherlock_ and John felt her whole world capsizing around her, because she was kissing _Sherlock Holmes_. This was real and John felt like she could cry.

They stayed like that several seconds, bodies tilted at an awkward angle and closed lips brushing against each other. John moved her hand back into Sherlock’s curls, grasping lightly and eliciting a soft gasp from the other woman. John took this opportunity to deepen the kiss, pushing just the tip of her tongue past the line of Sherlock’s lips and licking gently. Sherlock tasted like honey and tea and something light and warm that John could not identify.

John thought she might never grow tired of it.

Sherlock made a soft noise and broke the kiss to catch a much needed gulp of hair, but John could not bear to part for long from Sherlock’s skin. She kissed around the edges of Sherlock’s mouth, over a peaked cheekbone, under a sharp jaw, down down to press her lips where she could feel Sherlock’s racing pulse. There, John bit gently.

Sherlock’s hands shot up to grab John’s shoulders. Alarmed, John thought she had strained too far, and began to pull back, only to hear Sherlock’s breathless voice asking her to _do it again_.

John groaned and complied, laving Sherlock’s beautiful neck in neat half moons.

“Sherlock,” John breathed in Sherlock’s ear. “Sherlock I hate to ask this but can we move this somewhere more horizontal? I’m getting a bloody crick in my neck.”

Sherlock’s answer was a sudden upwards movement resulting in her chin conking right against John’s nose.

“Ow.”

“Oh my god John, I’m so sorry!” Sherlock was up in an instant, her hands flying haphazardly in the direction of John’s face. John had to duck to avoid a wayward finger poking her eye out.

“It’s fine, love, really,” she said, massaging her sore nose between her fingertips.

Sherlock froze with her hands still outstretched. John grimaced slightly and took them in hers gently.

“Not good?” she asked in a soft voice.

“No, it’s… fine.” Sherlock lifted a corner of her mouth in a shy smile and John felt her chest swell with how much she loved her. She brought Sherlock’s fingertips to her lips and kissed them.

“In that case, will you allow me to take you to bed, Sherlock?”

Sherlock nodded vigorously, her cheeks colouring a darker shade of pink.

They walked into Sherlock’s bedroom hand in hand.

Once in there, Sherlock sat on the edge of her bed. John was suddenly aware of how very little clothing the woman was wearing and the disparity made her eager to pull her own jumper off in a swift motion. She was wearing a vest underneath and a simple white bra, but she did not miss Sherlock’s interested gaze.

She smirked and stepped forward, standing now between Sherlock’s parted legs. John brought the two of them together in a soft kiss, stroking her hands gently over Sherlock’s shoulders, bringing her closer.

Sherlock melted into the touch with a sigh, her hands coming round to grab John by the hips.

“Hm, you’re still wearing far too many clothes,” she managed to murmur in between kisses.

“Oh am I?”

“These jeans…” Sherlock’s fingers fumbled at John’s flies, trying to undo the buttons without stopping to kiss John. “Unnecessary.”

John stilled Sherlock’s frantic fingers to take care of the offending item herself. She took a step back and shucked off jeans and socks alike. Standing now in only her underwear, John rested one of her knees between Sherlock’s thighs, pressing ever so slightly, a hint and a promise.

Sherlock’s next breath came out ragged and her arms trembled behind her.

“Now you,” John whispered. “Let me take good care of you, sweetheart.”

Sherlock nodded before scooting up the bed on her elbows. John climbed Sherlock’s body slowly, predatorily. She placed a row of small delicate kisses starting from Sherlock’s navel until she reached the waistband of her tailored trousers. Deftly she undid the buttons and pulled the trousers down, revealing a pair of purple and black lace trimmed knickers. She rose an eyebrow inquiringly.

“What? I like wearing matching underwear, makes me feel good ‘bout myself.” Sherlock mumbled defensively.

“Oh you look good alright,” said John. “Positively edible in fact.”

Sherlock’s answer was a bitten lip and a furious flush across her cheeks.

“Hmm.” John leant closer, nudging her nose against her clothed cunt. There was a wet patch already forming and Sherlock’s scent was deep and intoxicating. John inhaled deeply before covering it with the flat of her tongue.

Sherlock gasped audibly above her as her elbows gave out and she lay back on the bed with a soft thump.

“Oh my god John. Oh. My. God.”

“Not quite,” John smirked. “But close enough.”

John went back to covering what she could reach of Sherlock’s folds in tiny kitten licks, purposefully avoiding the throbbing centre of her desire. Sherlock had started moaning by then, a stream of profanity and John’s name mixed in there for good measure. Her hands cradled John’s head, fingers pressing against her scalp in a silent plea for more.

John was more than eager to comply.

“Sherlock, love, I’m gonna take these off now. And maybe that bra too?” She placed one soft kiss against her inner thigh. “I want to see you. All of you.”

Sherlock nodded once again, her chest heaving and covered in a fine sheen of sweat. She sat up long enough to unhook her bra singlehandedly and fling it somewhere across the room, before collapsing back amongst the pillows.

John’s gaze roamed over Sherlock’s pliant body. She scooted closer, hovering above her and stroking her flanks with the tips of her fingers. Sherlock’s breasts were pale and delicate and John’s small hands fit over them so perfectly it was as if they were made for this alone. John brushed her thumb over a peaked nipple, eliciting a soft gasp from Sherlock.

“You are so absurdly beautiful, Sherlock.” John’s voice was quiet and worshipful, overcome as she was with the sheer reality of Sherlock, soft and warm beneath her hands. “Out of this world. My angel…”

John leant in for a kiss, chastely at first. It grew beyond them very quickly, Sherlock’s hands grasping the side of John’s face with an urgency that hadn’t been quite there before.

“Please,” she begged. “Please John...”

“Yes,” John was breathless, dizzy, drunk on Sherlock.

She made her way back downwards, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses behind her until she could hook her fingers in Sherlock’s knickers.

“Okay?” she asked one more time. Sherlock looked at her with eyes of flame, her hands restless over her own body, and she gave one final nod.

John pulled.

Slowly, slowly she uncovered the tuft of black curls and the pink glistening folds of Sherlock’s cunt. John’s hands slid along Sherlock’s creamy thighs along with the knickers and she left them dangling from one ankle before repositioning herself between Sherlock’s legs.

John hitched one leg above her good shoulder, kissing the knee before moving forward, kissing ever closer to the pulsing heat of Sherlock’s cunt.

“Sherlock,” John murmured. “Oh Sherlock, I’m going to make you feel so good darling.”

Sherlock whined in response. Her hands were fidgeting, grasping handful of the sheets and her hair alternatively. She was quite literally shivering with anticipation.

John’s mouth watered and she mouthed closer until she could once again smell Sherlock’s rich juices. She liked her lips and lifted her eyes to meet Sherlock’s. Whatever she read in them was enough and she surged forward, covering Sherlock’s cunt with her lips.

John licked and sucked and nibbled, while Sherlock trembled and wailed around her. John felt claws pulling at her hair, almost causing tears to prickle at the corner of her eyes. She didn’t mind, because Sherlock’s taste on her tongue was bliss and she wanted to drown in it.

“John,” came Sherlock’s strangled voice from somewhere above her. “John, John, _John_.”

John kept a steady rhythm, alternating tiny flicks of her tongue with broad wet stripes. She felt Sherlock’s thighs convulsing around her ears and prodded deeper, pushing her tongue past Sherlock’s outer labia, pushing inside.

Sherlock suddenly let a sharp cry and hitched her hips upwards. John covered Sherlock’s clit with her lips and sucked, while one of her fingers took her tongue’s place deep inside Sherlock’s cunt.

Sherlock yelped, tensed for a moment, then collapsed into a shivering moaning puddle.

John coaxed a few last shivers from her, before kissing the same spot on her thigh she had kissed earlier and retrieving her finger.

“You okay, love?”

Sherlock was silent for a while, trying to catch her breath as John cleaned her mouth along Sherlock’s thigh. She rested her cheek against it as she waited for Sherlock to come down from her endorphin high.

“I… I will be.” Sherlock finally managed. She looked down at John with heavy lidded eyes and a lazy smile on her full red lips. “That was… something else.”

John smiled crookedly at her. “Well I don’t mean to brag, but I do have a reputation that spans well over three continents.”

Sherlock scoffed.

“But of course.” John started to kiss her way upwards once again. “That doesn’t mean.” She stopped to take a nipple in her mouth and suckle gently on it. “I don’t absolutely.” She reached a collarbone and left a purple mark there. “Indubitably.” She did the same at the hollow of Sherlock’s throat. “Love.” She met Sherlock’s lips and pecked them. “You.”

Sherlock was speechless. She scrunched up her face in a confused frown.

“Do you… do you mean that?”

“Of course,” John said softly. She did her best to convey just how much love was threatening to burst free from her chest that very moment. She settled for threading their fingers together and giving them a reassuring squeeze.

Sherlock blinked very fast. Her eyes were round and glazed and John wanted to lose herself in the infinite complexity of their hues. She kissed the tip of Sherlock’s nose.

“I love you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock gulped once, her mouth wobbling into a terribly endearing pout, before pouring forwards to meet John’s lips in a soft kiss.

They kissed leisurely for a while, lips barely parted, but then Sherlock’s tongue darted forward inquisitively.

“John,” Sherlock gasped in between kisses. “John you taste like me.”

John groaned at the words, suddenly reminded of her own arousal throbbing still between her legs.

Sherlock seemed to sense this and brushed her ankle over John’s calf, bringing her closer.

“Please,” she murmured. “Please let me do something for you too, John.”

John nodded frantically, gasping for air when Sherlock’s lithe hand covered her mons and squeezed gently.

Sherlock’s fingers were deft and pushed inside John’s plain white knickers in one single motion. They circled around John’s clit teasingly before dipping forward, caressing between her folds and coating themselves in the juices.

John moaned and bit at Sherlock’s neck, the closest patch of skin she could reach. Her hands were like a vise around Sherlock’s shoulders and she could not stop her hips from canting up, meeting Sherlock’s movements.

“Oh Sher… yeah that’s it, that’s… _ohh_.”

Sherlock dug deeper, long long fingers brushing but not quite pushing inside of John.

“Tell me John, tell me what you want me to do.”

“Fuck. Wait.”

John moved away just enough to shimmy out of her pants, vest and bra. She settled back down and bent a leg to lend better access to Sherlock’s questing fingers.

“Now, put those clever fingers to good use.” John kissed the corner of Sherlock’s mouth. “You were doing grand just a second ago.”

Sherlock smiled coyly before returning her hand to the glistening folds between John’s legs. She swallowed John’s pleased gasp in a surprisingly chaste kiss and nudged her fingers back and forth, back and forth.

The rhythm was maddening, driving John ever closer to the brink but never quite there. John huffed and pushed Sherlock away slightly. She looked confused for a moment, but John smiled reassuringly at her.

“Just… give me your hand.” John took two of Sherlock’s fingers deep into her mouth, coating them with saliva. She could taste herself on them and her cunt gave an impatient throb.

When Sherlock’s fingers were nice and wet, John hooked her leg around Sherlock’s waist, spreading herself open, inviting Sherlock’s fingers to breach her.

“That’s it, love.” She managed to gasp, as Sherlock inserted one tentative finger in John’s cunt. “Ah. Yeah, that’s perfect love. More.”

Sherlock complied, pushing two of her fingers up to the second knuckle deep inside John’s cunt. John moaned and rocked her hips forward.

“Yes. That’s. _Fuck_.”

Sherlock pumped her fingers in and out slowly, deliberately, half straddling John’s thigh. John could feel Sherlock’s own arousal growing anew, coating her thigh in fluid, and moved so that the friction was just perfect. Sherlock gasped.

“John, oh my god John.” Sherlock hid her face in John’s neck as her hips started to pump faster, in time with her fingers inside John’s cunt.

“Come on Sherlock. Come for me babe.”

John’s voice was hoarse now, breathless with lust. She grabbed a handful of Sherlock’s arse, holding her close, feeling her tremble with her second incoming orgasm. It was enough to push her over the edge herself, the walls of her cunt clenching around Sherlock’s fingers.

They lay panting half on top of each other, catching their breaths, moist breath ghosting over each other’s skin. When John felt Sherlock starting to shiver in her arms, she leant over the bed and pulled the duvet to cover the both of them.

They huddled closer, Sherlock still half on top of John with her arms loosely draped around John’s waist. John settled to card her fingers through Sherlock’s wild curls. They were soft and John could hardly believe she was fully allowed this simple deliberate touch now.

“John?” Sherlock’s voice was muffled from where her mouth was mushed against John’s bicep.

“Hmm.”

“Thank you. For the hair.”

“No problem darling.” Sherlock was very clearly on the brink of sleep, but John nudged her nose affectionately against Sherlock’s hairline. “For the record I meant it when I said you look gorgeous with this haircut.”

“Ngh.”

Sherlock was silent for a very long time after that and John had expected her to have fallen asleep and was getting ready to follow when she heard a tiny voice coming from somewhere close to her right breast.

“John?”

“Yeah?”

The grip on John’s waist tightened and Sherlock’s nose pushed harder into her shoulder.

“…I love you.”

John’s heart swelled once more and this time she did not stop the prickling sensation behind her eyes.

They were going to be alright. Together.

> _The sun's in the sky, it makes for happy endings_
> 
> _You can't deny you want a happy ending_

**Author's Note:**

> I'm putting this as part of my [the universal language of mankind](http://archiveofourown.org/series/269704) series because this was partly inspired by [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GKypqSL49Pg).


End file.
